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INDIAN LEGENDS 



OTHER POEMS. 



INDIAN LEGENDS 



© t Ij t x a § 1 m % ♦ 



MARY GARDINER HORSFORD. 



NEW YORK: 

C. DERBY, 119 NASSAU STREET 
BOSTON : PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, & CO. 
CINCINNATI : H. W. DERBY. 

1S55. 



T s^° 



V* 



■', . i 



Eatered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1355, by 
MARY GARDINER HORSFORD, 
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. "3 



TO MY FATHER, 

SAMUEL S. GARDINER, Esq., 
arjfs ITolume fs Ensctftetr, 

AS A 
SLIGHT TESTIMONIAL OF A DAUGHTER'S GRATITUDE 

AND AFFECTION. 



CONTENTS 



INDIAN LEGENDS. 

Page 

The Thunderbolt II 

The Phantom Bride 16 

The Laughing Water 23 

The Last of the Red Men 27 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

The Pilgrim's Fast 36 

Pleurs 40 

The Legend of the Iron Cross 46 

Mr Native Isle 53 

The Lost Pleiad . 57 

The Yesper Chime 60 

The Maniac 68 

The Voice of the Dead 72 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

Page 
" A Dream that was not all a Dream " . . . .75 

The Judgment of the Dead 78 

The Highland Girl's Lament 82 

To my Sister on her Birthday 89 

The Poet's Lesson . . 92 

Madeline. — A Legend op the Mohawk . . . .95 
The Deformed Artist ....... 104 

The Child's Appeal . . 110 

The Dying Year 115 

Song of the New Year 119 

I Would not Live Alway ...... 123 

The Fall of Jerusalem . . ' . . ... .126 

The First Look . . 132 

The Daughter of Jephthah among the Mountains . 135 

Mona Lisa 141 

Spring Lilies . . . . . . . . . ". 145 

Lines to D. G. T., of Sherwood 149 

Little Kate 152 

A Thought of the Stars 155 

A Mother's Prayer . 160 

Notes 165 



INDIAN LEGENDS. 



II 



THE THUNDERBOLT, 



There is an artless tradition among the Indians, related by- 
Irving, of a warrior who saw the thunderbolt lying upon the 
ground, with a beautifully wrought moccasin on each side of it. 
Thinking he had found a prize, he put on the moccasins, but 
they bore him away to the land of spirits, whence he never 
returned. 



Loud pealed the thunder 

From arsenal high, 
Bright flashed the lightning 

Athwart the broad sky ; 
Fast o'er the prairie, 

Through torrent and shade, 
Sought the red hunter 

His hut in the glade. 



12 THE THUNDER-BOLT. 

Deep roared the cannon 

"Whose forge is the sun, 
And red was the chain 

The thunderbolt spun; 
O'er the thick wild wood 

There quivered a line, 
Low 'mid the green leaves 

Lay hunter and pine. 



Clear was the sunshine, 

The hurricane past, 
And fair flowers smiled in 

The path of the blast ; 
While in the forest 

Lay rent the huge tree, 
Up rose the red man, 

All unharmed and free. 



THE THUNDER-BOLT. 13 

Bright glittered each leaf 

With sunlight and spray, 
And close at his feet 

The thunder-bolt lay, 
And moccasons, wrought 

With the beads that shine, 
Where the rainbow hangeth 

A wampum divine. 



Wondered the hunter 

What spirit was there, 
Then donned the strange gift 

With shout and with prayer ; 
But the stout forest 

That echoed the strain, 
Heard never the voice of 

That red man as-ain. 



14 THE THUNDEK-BOLT. 

Up o'er the mountain, 

As torrents roll down, 
Marched he o'er dark oak 

And pine's soaring crown ; 
Far in the bright west 

The sunset grew clear, 
Crimson and golden 

The hunting- grounds near : 



Light trod the chieftain 

The tapestried plain, 
There stood his good horse 

He'd left with the slain; 
Gone were the sandals, 

And broken the spell ; 
A drop of clear dew 

From either foot fell. 



THE THUNDER-BOLT. 15 

Long the dark maiden 

Sought, tearful and wide ; 
Never the red man 

Came back for his bride ; 
With the forked lightning 

Now hunts he the deer, 
Where the Great Spirit 

Smiles ever and near. 



16 



THE PHANTOM BRIDE, 

During the Revolutionary war, a young American lady was 
murdered, while dressed in her bridal robe, by a party of Indians, 
sent by her betrothed to conduct her to the village where he 
was encamped. After the deed was done, they carried her long 
hair to- her lover, who, urged by a frantic despair, hurried to 
the spot to assure himself of the truth of the tale, and shortly 
after threw himself, in battle, on the swords of his countrymen. 
After this event, the Indians were never successful in their war- 
fare, the spectre of their victim presenting itself continually 
between them and the enemy. 

The worn bird of Freedom had furled o'er our 

land 
The shattered wings, pierced by the despot's 

rude hand, 
And stout hearts were vowing, 'mid havoc and 

strife, 
To Liberty, fortune, fame, honor, and life. 

The red light of Morning had scarcely betrayed 



THE rHANTOM BRIDE. 17 

The sweet summer blossoms that slept in the 
glade, 

When a horseman rode forth from his camp in 
the wood, 

And paused where a cottage in loneliness 
stood. 

The ruthless marauder preceded him there, 

For the green vines were torn from the trellis- 
work fair, 

The flowers in the garden all hoof-trodden lay, 

And the rafters were black with the smoke of 
the fray : 

But the desolate building he heeded not long, 

Was it echo, the wind, or the notes of a 
song? 

One moment for doubt, and he stood by the 
side 

Of the dark-eyed young maiden, his long- 
promised bride. 

Few and short were their words, for the camp 
of the foe 



18 THE PHANTOM BRIDE. 

Was but severed from them, by a stream's 

narrow flow, 
And her fair cheek grew pale at the forest 

bird's start, 
But he said, as he mounted his steed to depart, 
" Nay, fear not, but trust to the chief for thy 

guide, 
And the light of the morrow shall see thee my 

bride." 
Why faltered the words ere the sentence was 

o'er ? 
Why trembled each heart like the surf on the 

shore ? 
In a marvellous legend of old it is said, 
That the cross where the Holy One suffered 

and bled 
Was built of the aspen, whose pale silver leaf, 
Has ever more quivered with horror and grief; 
And e'er since the hour, when thy pinion of 

light 
Was sullied in Eden, and doomed, through a 

night 



THE PHANTOM BRIDE. 19 

Of Sin and of Sorrow, to straggle above, 
Hast thou been a trembler, beautiful Love ! 

'T was the deep hush of midnight ; the stars 

from the sky 
Looked down with the glance of a seraph's 

bright eye, • 
When it cleaveth in vision from Deity's shrine 
Through infinite space and creation divine, 
As the maiden came forth for her bridal arrayed, 
And was led by the red men through forest 

and shade, 
Till they paused where a fountain gushed 

clear in its play, 
And the tall pines rose dark and sublime o'er 

their way. 
Alas for the visions that, joyous and pure, 
Wove a vista of light through the Future's 



obscure ! 
ition wa? 
boughs, 



Contention waxed fierce 'neath the evergreen 



20 THE PHANTOM BRIDE. 

And the braves of the chieftain were false to 

his vows ; 
In vain knelt the Pale-Face to merciless wrath, 
The tomahawk gleamed on her desolate path, 
One prayer for her lover, one look towards the 

sky, 
And the dark hand of Death closed the love- 
speaking eye. 

They covered with dry leaves the cold corpse 

and fair, 
And bore the long tresses of soft, golden hair, 
In silence and fear, through the dense forest 

wide, 
To the home that the lover had made for his 

bride. 
He knew by their waving those tresses of gold, 
Now damp with the life-blood that darkened 

each fold, 
And, mounting his steed, pausing never for 

breath 



THE PHANTOM BRIDE. 21 

Sought the spot where the huge trees stood 

sentries of Death ; 
Tore wildly the leaves from the loved form 

away, 
And kissed the pale lips of inanimate clay. 

But hark ! through the green wood what 

sounded afar, 
'T was the trumpet's loud peal — the alarum of 

war ! 
Again on his charger, through forest, o'er 

plain, 
The soldier rode swift to his ranks 'mid the 

slain : 
They faltered, they wavered, half turning to fly 
As their leader dashed frantic and fearlessly by, 
The damp turf grew crimson wherever he trod, 
Where his sword was uplifted a soul went to 

God. 
But that brave arm alone might not conquer 

in strife, 
2* 



22 THE PHANTOM B,RIDE. 

The madness of grief was conflicting with Life ; 
His steed fell beneath him, the death-shot 

whizzed by, 
And he rushed on the swords of the victors to 

die. 



'Neath the murmuring pine trees they laid 

side by side, 
The gallant young soldier, the fair, murdered 

bride : 
And never again from that traitorous night, 
The red man dared stand in the battle's fierce 

storm, 
For ever before him a phantom of light, 
Kose up in the white maiden's beautiful form ; 
And when he would rush on the foe from his 

lair, 
Those locks of pale gold floated past on the 

air. 



THE LAUGHING WATER, 



The Indian name for the Falls of St. Anthony signifies 
"Laughing "Water," and here tradition says that a young 
woman of the Dahcotah tribe, the father of her children having 
taken another wife, unmoored her canoe above the fall, and 
placing herself and children in it, sang her death-song as she 
went over the foaming declivity. 



The sun went down the west 

As a warrior to his grave, 
And touched with crimson hue 

The "Laughing Water's" wave; 
And where the current swept 

A quick, convulsive flood, 
Serene upon the brink 

An Indian mother stood. 



24 THE LAUGHING WATER. 

With calm and serious gaze 

She watched the torrent blue 
And then with skilful hand 

Unmoored the birch canoe, 
Seized the light oar, and placed 

Her infants by her side, 
And steered the fragile bark 

On through the rushing tide. 

Then fitfully and wild 

In thrilling notes of woe 
Swept down the rapid stream 

The death-song sad and low ; 
And gathered on the marge, 

From many a forest glen, 
With frantic gestures rude, 

The red Dahcotah men. 
But onward sped the bark 

Until it reached the height, 
Where mounts the angry spray 



THE LAUGHING WATER. 

And raves the water's might ; 
And whirling eddies swept 

Into the gulf below 
The smiles of infancy 

And youth's maturer glow ; 
The priestess of the rock 

And white-robed surges bore 
The wronged and broken heart 

To the far off Spirit Shore. 

And often when the night 

Has drawn her shadowy veil, 
And solemn stars look forth 

Serenely pure and pale, 
A spectre bark and form 

May still be seen to glide, 
In wondrous silence down 

The Laughing Water's tide. 
And mingling with the breath 

Of low winds sweeping free, 



2. r > 



26 THE LAUGHING WATER. 

The night-bird's fitful plaint, 
And moaning forest tree, 

Amid the lulling chime 
Of waters falling there, 

The death-song floats again 
Upon the laden air. 



27 



THE LAST OF THE RED MEN, 

Travellers in Mexico have found the form of a serpent in- 
variably pictured over the doorways of the Indian Temples, 
and on the interior walls, the impression of a red hand. 

The superstitions attached to the phenomena of the thunder- 
storm and Aurora Borealis, alluded to in the poem, are well 
authenticated. 

I saw him in vision, — the last of that race 

Who were destined to vanish before the Pale- 
face, 

As the dews of the evening from mountain and 
dale, 

When the thirsty young Morning withdraws 
her dark veil ; 

Alone with the Past and the Future's chill 
breath, 

Like a soul that has entered the valley of 
• Death. 



28 THE LAST OF THE E.ED MEN. 

He stood where of old from the Fane of the 

Sun, 
"While cycles unnumbered their centuries run, 
Never quenched, never fading, and mocking 

at Time, 
Blazed the fire sacerdotal far o'er the fair 

clime ; 
Where the temples o'ershadowed the Mexican 

plain, 
And the hosts of the Aztec were conquered 

and slain ; 
Where the Eed Hand still glows on pilaster 

and wall, 
And the serpent keeps watch o'er the desolate 

hall. 



He stood as an oak, on the bleak mountain- 
side, 

The lightning hath withered and scorched in 
its pride 



THE LAST OF THE RED MEN. 29 

Most stately in death, and refusing to bend 
To the blast that ere long must its dry 

branches rend ; 
With coldness and courage confronting Life's 

care, 
But the coldness, the courage, that's born of 

despair. 



I marked him where, winding through harvest- 
crowned plain, 

The "Father of Waters" sweeps on to the 
main, 

Where the dark mounds in silence and loneli- 
ness stand, 

And the wrecks of the Red-man are strewn 

o'er the land: 

The forests were levelled that once were his 
home, 

O'er the fields of his sires glittered steeple 

and dome : 



30 THE LAST OP THE RED MEN. 

The chieftain no longer in greenwood and 

glade 
With trophies of fame wooed the dusky-haired 

maid, 
And the voice of the hunter had died on the air 
With the victor's defiance and captive's low 

prayer ; 
But the winds and the waves and the firma- 
ment's scroll, 
With Divinity still were instinct to his soul ; 
At midnight the war-horse still cleaved the 

blue sky, 
As it bore the departed to mansions on high ; 
Still dwelt in the rock and the shell and the 

tide 
A tutelar angel, invisible guide ; 
Still heard he the tread of the Deity nigh, 
When the lightning's wild pinion gleamed 

bright on the eye, 
And saw in the Northern-lights, flashing and 

red, 



THE LAST OF THE RED MEN. 31 

The shades of his fathers, the dance of the 

dead. 
And scorning the works and abode of his foe, 
The pilgrim raised far from that valley of woe 
His dark, eagle gaze, to the sun-gilded west, 
Where the fair " Land of Shadows " lay view- 
less and blest. 



Again I beheld him where swift on its way 
Leaped the cataract, foaming, with thunder 

and spray, 
To the whirlpool below from the dark ledge 

on high, 
While the mist from its waters commixed 

with the sky. 
The dense earth thrilled deep to the voice of 

its roar, 
And the " Thunder of Waters" shook forest 

and shore, 
As he steered his frail bark to the horrible 

verge, 



32 THE LAST OF THE RED MEN. 



And, chanting his death-song, went down with 
the surge. 



"On, on, mighty Spirit! 

I welcome thy spray 
As the prairie-bound hunter 

The dawning of day ; 
No shackles have hound thee, 

No tyrant imprest 
The mark of the Pale face 

On torrent and crest. 



" His banners are waving 

O'er hill-top and plain, 
The stripes of oppression 

Blood-red with our slain; 
The stars of his glory 

And greatness and fame, 
The signs of our weakness, 

The signs of our shame. 



THE LAST OF THE RED MEN. 33 

The hatchet is broken, 

The bow is unstrung ; 
The bell peals afar 

Where the war-whoop once rung : 
The council-fires burn 

But in thoughts of the Past, 
And their ashes are strewn 

To the merciless blast. 



But though we have perished 

As leaves when they fall, 
Unhonored with trophies, 

Unmarked by a pall, 
When our names have gone out 

Like a flame on the wave, 
The Pale race shall weep 

'Neath the curse of our brave. 



34 THE LAST OF THE RED MEN. 

On, on, mighty Spirit ! 

Unchecked in thy way ; 
I smile on thine anger, 

And sport with thy spray 
The soul that has wrestled 

With Life's darkest form, 
Shall baffle thy madness 

And pass in the storm. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



THE PILGRIMS' FAST. 



The historical incident related in this poem is recorded 
in Cheever's ''Journal of the Pilgrims." 



'T was early mom, the low night-wind 
Had fled the sun's fierce ray, 

And sluggishly the leaden waves 
Boiled over Plymouth Bay. 

No mist was on the mountain-top, 

No dew-drop in the vale ; 
The thirsting Summer flowers had died 

Ere chilled by Autumn's wail. 

3 



THE PILGRIMS FAST. 



The giant woods with yellow leaves 
The blighted turf had paved, 

And o'er the brown and arid fields 
No golden harvest waved ; 



But calm and blue the cloudless sky- 
Arched over earth and sea, 

As in their humble house of prayer 
The Pilgrims bowed the knee. 

There- gray-haired ministers of God 

In supplication bent, 
And artless words from childhood's lips 

Sought the Omnipotent. 

There woman's lip and cheek grew pale 

As on the broad day stole ; 
And manhood's polished brow was damp 

With fervency of soul. 



THE PILGRIMS' FAST. 39 

The sultry noon-tide came and went 

With steady, fervid glare ; 
" God, our God, be merciful ! " 

Was still the Pilgrims' prayer. 

They prayed as erst Elijah prayed 

Before the sons of Baal, 
When on the waiting sacrifice 

He called the fiery hail : 

They prayed as once the prophet prayed 

On Carmel's summit high, 
When the little cloud rose from the sea 

And blackened all the sky. 

And when around that spireless church 

The shades of evening fell, 
The customary song went up 

With clear and rapturous swell : 



40 



THE PILGRIMS' FAST. 



And while each heart was thrilling with 
The chant of Faith sublime, 

The rude, brown rafters of the roof 
Eang with a joyous chime. 

The rain ! the rain ! the blessed rain ! 

It watered field and height, 
And filled the fevered atmosphere, 

With vapor soft and white. 

Oh ! when that Pilgrim band came forth 

And pressed the humid sod, 
Shone not each face as Moses' shone 

When " face to face " with G-od? 



41 



PLEURS, 



The town of Pleurs, situated among the Alps and con- 
taining about two thousand five hundred inhabitants, was 
overwhelmed in 1618 by the falling of Mount Conto. The 
avalanche occurred in the night, and no trace of the village 
or any of its inhabitants could ever after be discovered. 



'T was eve ; and Mount Conto 

^Reflected in night 
The sunbeams that fled 

With the monarch of light ; 
As great souls and noble 

Keflect evermore 
The sunshine that gleams 

From Eternity's shore. 



42 PLEUES. 



A slight crimson veil 

Robed the snow-wreath on high, 
The shadow an angel 

In passing threw by ; 
And city and valley, 

In mantle of gray, 
Seemed bowed like a mourner 

In silence to pray. 



And the sweet vesper bell, 

With a clear, measured chime, 
Like the falling of minutes 

In the hour-glass of Time, 
From mountain to mountain 

Was echoed afar, 
Till it died in the distance 

As light in a star. 



PLEURS. 43 

The young peasant mother 

Had cradled to rest 
The infant that carolled 

In peace on her breast ; 
The laborer, ere seeking 

His couch of repose, 
Told his beads in the shade of 

A fortress of snows. 



Up the cloudless serene 

Moved the silver-sphered Night ; 
The reveller's palace 

Was flooded with light ; 
And the cadence of music, 

The dancer's gay song, 
In harmony wondrous, 

Went up, 'mid the throng. 



44 PLEUES. 

The criminal counted, 

With visage of woe, 
The chiming of hours 

That were left him below ; 
And the watcher so pale, 

In the chamber of Death, 
Bent over the dying 

With quick, stifled breath. 



The watchman the midnight 

Had told with shrill cry, 
When through the deep silence 

What sounded on high, 
With a terrible roar, 

Like the thunders sublime, 
Whose voices shall herald 

The passing of Time ? 



PLEURS. 45 

On came the destroyer ; — 

One crash and one thrill — 
Each pulse in that city 

For ever stood still. 
The blue arch with glory 

Was mantled by day, 
When the traveller passed 

On his perilous way ; — 



Lake, valley, and forest 

In sunshine were clear, 
But when of that village, 

In wonder and fear, 
He questioned the landscape 

With terror-struck eye, 
The mountains in majesty 

Pointed on high ! 



46 



The strong arm of Love 

Struggled down through the mould; 
The miner dug deep 

For the jewels and gold; 
And workmen delved ages 

That sepulchre o'er, 
But found of the city 

A trace never more. 



And now, on the height 

Of that fathomless tomb, 
The fair Alpine flowers 

In loveliness bloom ; 
And the water-falls chant, 

Through their minster of snow, 
A mass for the spirits 

That slumber below. 



47 



THE LEGEND OF THE IRON CROSS 



" There dwelt a nun in Dryburgh bower 
Who ne'er beheld the day." 



Twilight o'er the East is stealing, 
And the sun is in the vale : 

'T is a fitting moment, stranger, 
To relate a wondrous tale. 



'Neath this moss-grown rock and hoary 
We will pause awhile to rest ; 

See, the drowsy surf no longer 
Beats against its aged breast. 



48 THE LEGEND OF THE IRON CROSS. 

Years ago, traditions tell us, 

When rebellion stirred the land, 

And the fiery cross was carried 
O'er the hills from hand to hand, 



And the yeoman at its summons 
Left his yet unfurrowed field, 

And the leader from his fortress 

Sallied forth with sword and shield, 



Where the iron cross is standing 
On yon rude and crumbling wall, 

Dwelt a chieftain's orphan daughter, 
In her broad ancestral hall. 



And her faith to one was plighted, 
Lord of fief and domain wide, 

Who, ere he went forth undaunted 
War's disastrous strife to bide, 



THE LEGEND OF THE IRON CROSS. 49 

'Mid his armed and mounted vassals 
Paused before her castle gate, 

While she waved a last adieu 
From the battlements in state. 



But when nodding plume and banner 
Faded from her straining sight, 

And the mists from o'er the mountains 
Crept like phantoms with the night,- 

Low before the sacred altar 

At the crucifix she bowed, 
And, with fervent supplication 

To the Holy Mother, vowed 

That, till he returned from battle, 
Scotland's hills and passes o'er, 

Saved by her divine protection, 
She would see the sun no more ! 



50 THE LEGEND OF THE IRON CROSS. 

In a low and vaulted chapel, 
Where no sunbeam entrance found, 

Many a day was passed in penance, 
Kneeling on the cold, damp ground. 

Autumn blanched the flowers of Summer, 
And the forest robes grew sere ; 

Still in darkness knelt the maiden, 
Pleading, " Mary ! Mother! hear!" 

Cold blasts through the valleys hurried, 
Dry leaves fluttered on the gale ; 

But of him, the loved and absent, 
Leaf and tempest told no tale. 

Still and pale, a dreamless slumber 
. Slept he on the battle-plain, — 
Steed beneath and vassal o'er him, — 
Lost amid the hosts of slain. 



THE LEGEND OP THE IRON CROSS. 51 

Spring, with tranquil breath and fragrant, 
Called the primrose from its grave, 

Woke the low peal of the harebell, 
Bade the purple heather wave ; — 



Lilies to the warm light opened, 
Surges, sparkling, kissed the shore 

But the chieftain's orphan daughter 
Saw the sunbeam — never more ! 



Suitors sent, her hand to purchase, 

Some with wealth and some with fame ; 

But the vow was on her spirit, 
And she shrank not from its claim. 



Yet when starry worlds looked downwards, 
Spirit-like, from realms on high, 

And the violets in the valleys 
Closed in sleep each dewy eye, — 



THE LEGEND OF THE IRON CROSS. 

While the night in wondrous beauty 
O'er the softened landscape lay, 

She came forth, with noiseless footstep 
Moving 'mid the shadows gray, 

Gazing ever towards the summit, 
Where the. gleam of scarf and plume 

Faded in the hazy distance, 

Leaving her to prayer and gloom. 

Years, by her unmarked, unnumbered, 
Crossed the dial-plate of Time ; 

Then she passed, one quiet midnight, 
To the unseen Spirit-Clime. 

But the twilight has departed, 
And the moon is up on high ; 

Stranger, pass not, in thy journey, 
Yon deserted court-yard by ; 



THE LEGEND OF THE IRON CROSS. 53 

For it is whispered that, at evening, 

Oft a misty form is seen, 
In its silent progress casting 

Not a shadow on the green, 

'Neath the iron cross that standeth 
On the mouldering wall and rude, 

Like a noble thought uplifted 
In the Past's deep solitude. 



54 



MY NATIVE ISLE. 

My native isle ! my native isle ! 

For ever round thy sunny steep 
The low waves curl, witli sparkling foam, 

And solemn murmurs deep ; 
While o'er the surging waters blue 

The ceaseless breezes throng, 
And in the grand old woods awake 

An everlasting song. 

The sordid strife and petty cares 

That crowd the city's street, 
The rush, the race, the storm of Life, 

Upon thee never meet ; 
But quiet and contented hearts 

Their daily tasks fulfil, 
And meet with simple hope and trust 

The coming good or ill. 



MY NATIVE ISLE. 55 

The spireless church stands, plain and brown, 

The winding road beside ; 
The green graves rise in silence near, 

With moss-grown tablets wide ; 
And early on the Sabbath morn, 

Along the flowery sod, 
Unfettered souls, with humble prayer, 

Go up to worship God. 



And dearer far than sculptured fane 

Is that gray church to me, 
For in its shade my mother sleeps, 

Beneath the willow-tree ; 
And often, when my heart is raised 

By sermon and by song, 
Her friendly smile appears to me 

From the seraphic throng. 



56 MY NATIVE ISLE. 

The sunset glow, the moonlit stream, 

Part of my being are ; 
The fairy flowers that bloom and die, 

The skies so clear and far : 
The stars that circle Night's dark brow, 

The winds and waters free, 
Each with a lesson all its own, 

Are monitors to me. 



The systems in their endless march 

Eternal truth proclaim ; 
The flowers God's love from day to day 

In gentlest accents name ; 
The skies for burdened hearts and faint 

A code of Faith prepare ; 
What tempest ever left the Heaven 

Without a blue spot there ? 



MY NATIVE ISLE. 57 

My native isle ! my native isle ! 

In sunnier climes I 've strayed, 
But better love thy pebbled beach 

And lonely forest glade, 
Where low winds stir with fragrant breath 

The purple violet's head, 
And the star-grass in the early Spring 
t Peeps from the sear leaf's bed. 



I would no more of strife and tears 

Might on thee ever meet, 
But when against the tide of years 

This heart has ceased to beat, 
Where the green weeping- willows bend 

I fain would go to rest, 
Where waters chant, and winds may sweep 

Above my peaceful breast. 



58 



THE LOST PLEIAD. 



A void is in the sky ! 
A light has ceased the seaman's path to cheer, 
A star has left its ruby throne on high, 

A world forsook its sphere. 
Thy sisters bright pursue their circling way, 
But thou, lone wanderer ! thou hast left our 

vault for aye. 



THE LOST PLEIAD. 59 

Did Sin invade thy bowers, 
And Death with sable pinion sweep thine air, 
Blasting the beauty of thy fairest flowers, 

And God admit no prayer ? 
Didst thou, as fable saith, wax faint and dim 
With the first mortal breath between thy zone 
and Him ? 

Did human love, with all 
Its passionate might and meek endurance 

strong, — 
The love that mocks at Time and scorns the 
pall, 
Through conflict fierce and long, — 
Live in thy soul, yet know no future's ray? 
Then, mystic world ! 't was well that thou 
shouldst pass away. 

Perchance a loftier fate 
Removed thy radiance from our feeble sight. 



60 THE LOST PLEIAD. 

Did He, whose Spirit wills but to create, 

Far upward urge thy flight 
From this low fraction of expiring time, 
To realms where ages roll, as hours, in peace 
sublime ? 

E'en there does science soar 
With trembling pinion, bright and eager eye, 
Striving to reach the still-receding shore 

That bounds the vision hight 
Immortal longings fill the fettered mind$ 
Unfathomed glory lief around it, veiled and 
shrined*! 

Oh ! when the brooding cloud 
Shall pass like mist from o'er our straining 

sight, 
And, as the sun-born insect, from its shroud 

The soul speed forth in might, 
From phase to phase in Being's endless day, 
Shall we behold thy light, and learn thy future 
way ? 



GL 



THE VESPER CHIME. 



She dwelt within a convent wall 
Beside the " blue Moselle," 

And pure and simple was her life 
As is the tale I tell. 



She never shrank from penance rude, 

And was so young and fair, 

It was a holy, holy thing, 

To see her at her prayer. 
4 



62 THE VESPER CHIME. 

Her cheek was very thin and pale ; 

You would have turned in fear, 
If 't were not for the hectic spot 

That glowed so soft and clear. 

* 

And always, as the evening chime 
With measured cadence fell, 

Her vespers o'er, she sought alone 
A little garden dell. 

And when she came to us again, 
She moved with lighter air ; 

We thought the angels ministered 
To her while kneeling there. 

One eve I followed on her way, 

And asked her of her. life. 
A faint blush mantled cheek and brow, 

The sign of inward strife] 



THE VESPER CHIME. 63 

And when she spoke, the zephyrs caught 

The words so soft and clear, 
And told them over to the flowers 

That bloomed in beauty near. 

" I know not," thus she said to me, 
" If my young cheek is pale, 
But daily dp I feel within 
This life of mine grow frail. 

" There is a flower that hears afar 
The coming tempest knell, 
And folds its tiny leaves in fear, — 
The scarlet Pimpernel : 

" And thus my listening spirit heard 
The rush of Death's cold wing, 
And tremulously folded close, 
In childhood's early Spring. 



64 THE VESPER CHIME. 

"I never knew a parent's care, 
A sister's gentle love : 

They early left this world of ours 
For better lands above. 



" And so I loved not earthly joys, 

The merry dance and play, 
But sought to commune with the stars, 

And learn the wind's wild lay. 



" The pure and gentle flowers became 

As sisters fair to me : 
I needed no interpreter 

To read their language free. 

" And 'neath the proud and grand old trees 
That seemed to touch the sky, 

We prayed, alike with lowly head, 
The violets and I. 



THE VESPER CHIME. 65 

" Mad years rolled on and brought to me 

But woman's lot below, 
Iutensest hours of happiness, 

Intensest hours of woe. 

" For one there was whose word and smile 
Had power to thrill my heart : 

One eve the summons came for him 
To battle to depart. 

"And when again the setting sun 

In crimson robed the west, 
They bore him to his childhood's home, — 

The life-blood on his breast. 



"Another day, at vesper chime, 
They laid him low to sleep, 

And always at that fated hour 
I kneel to pray and weep. 



66 THE VESPER CHIME. 

" 'T is said the radiant stars of night, < 
When viewed through different air, 

Appear not all in golden robes, 
But various colors wear. 



" And through another atmosphere, 
My spirit seemed to gaze 

For never more wore life to me 
The hues of other days. 



" Once to my soul unbidden came 
A strange and fiery guest, 

That soon assumed an empire there, 
And never is at rest. 



" It binds the chords with arm of might, 
And strikes with impulse strong ; 

I know not whence the visitant, 
But mortals call it song. 



THE VESPER CHIME. 67 

" It never pants for earthly fame, 

But chants a mournful wail 
For ever o'er the loved and dead, 

Like wind-harps in a gale." 

She said no more, hut lingered long 

Upon that quiet spot, 
With such a glory on her "brow, 

'T will never be forgot ! 



Next eve at nine, for prayers we met, 
And missed her from her place ; 

We found her sleeping with the flowers, 
But Death was on her face. 



We buried her, as she had asked, 

Just at the vesper chime ; 
The sunbeams seemed to stay their flight, 

So holy was the time. 



68 TPIE VESPER CHIME. 

I've heard that when the rainbow fades 
From parting clouds on high, 

It leaves where smiled the radiant arch 
A fragrance in the sky : 

It may be fantasy, I know, 
But round that hour of Death 

I always found an aroma 
On every zephyr's breath. 

And this is why the twilight hour 

Is holier far to me, 
Than gorgeous burst of morning light, 

Or moonbeams on the sea. 



69 



THE MANIAC. 



A stokt is told in Spain, of a woman, who, by a sudden 
shock of domestic calamity, became insane, and ever after 
looked up incessantly to the sky. 



O'er her infant's couch of death, 
Bent a widowed mother low ; 

And the quick, convulsive breath 
Marked the inward weight of woe. 

Round th^fair child's forehead clung 
Golden tresses, damp and bright ; 

While Death's pinion o'er it hung, 
And the parted lips grew white. 

4* 



70 THE MANIAC. 

Reason left the mother's eye, 
When the latest pang was o'er ; 

Then she raised her gaze on high, 
Turned it earthward nevermore. 



By the dark and silent tomb, 
Where they laid the dead to rest ; 

By the empty cradle's gloom, 
And the fireside once so blest ; 

In the lone and narrow cell, 
Fettered by the clanking chain, 

Where the maniac's piercing yell 

Thrilled the heart with dread and pain ;- 

Upward still she fixed her gaz«, 

Tearless and bewildered too, 
Speaking of the fearful night 

Madness o'er the spirit threw ; 



THE MANIAC. 71 

Upward, upward, — till in love 
Deatli removed the veil of Time, 

Raised the broken heart above, 
To the far-off healing clime. 

Mortal ! o'er the field of Life 
Pressing with uncertain tread ; 

Mourning, in the torrent strife, 

Blessings lost and pleasures fled ; — 

A sublimer faith was taught 

By the maniac's frenzied eye, 
Than Philosophy e'er caught 

From intensest thought and high. 



When the heart is crushed and broken 
By the death-bell's sullen chime, 

By the faded friendship's token, 
Or the wild remorse of crime, 



72 THE MANIAC. 

Turn to earth for succor never, 
But beyond her light and shade, 

Toward the blue skies look forever 
God, and God alone, can aid. 



THE VOICE OF THE DEAD, 



Oh ! call us not silent, 

The throng of the dead ! 
Though in visible being 

No longer we tread 
The pathways of earth, 

From the grave and the sky, 
From the halls of the Past 

And the star-host on high, 
We speak to the spirit 

In language divine ; 
List, Mortal, onr song, 

Ere its burden be thine. 



74 THE VOICE OF THE DEAD. 

Our labor is finished, 

Our race it is run ; 
The guerdon eternal 

Is lost or is won ; 
A beautiful gift 

Is the life thou dost share : 
Bewail not its sorrow, 

Despise not its care ; 
The rainbow of Hope 

Spans the ocean of Time ; 
High triumph and holy • 

Makes conflict sublime. 



Work ever ! Life's moments 
Are fleeting and brief; 

Behind is the burden, 
Before, the relief. 

Work nobly ! the deed 
Liveth bright in the Past, 



THE VOICE OF THE DEAD. 75 

When the spirit that planned 

Is at rest from the blast ; 
Work nobly ! the Infinite 

Spreads to thy sight, 
The higher thou soarest 

The stronger thy flight. 



And when from thy vision 

Loved faces shall wane, 
And thy heart-strings thrill wildly 

With anguish and pain ; 
The voices that now 

Are as faint as the tone 
Of the Zephyr, that stirs not 

The rose on its throne, 
Shall burst on thy soul, — 

An orchestra divine, 
With seraph and cherub 

From Deity's shrine. 



"A DREAM THAT WAS NOT ALL A DREAM." 



Through the half-curtained window stole 

An Autumn sunset's glow, 
As languid on my couch I lay 

With pulses weak and low. 

And then methought a presence stood, 

With shining feet and fair, 
Amid the waves of golden light 

That rippled through the air, 



"a dream that was not all a dream." 77 

And laid upon my heaving breast, 
With earnest glance and true, 

A babe, whose fair and gentle brow- 
No shade of sorrow knew. 



A solemn joy was in my heart, — 

Immortal life was given 
To Earth, upon her battle-field 

To discipline for Heaven. 

Soft music thrilled the quiet room, — 

An unseen host were nigh, 
Who left the infant pilgrim at 

The threshold of our sky. 

A new, strange love woke in my heart, 

Defying all control, 
As on the soft air rose and fell 

That birth-hymn for a soul ! 



78 "a dream that was not all a dream." 

And now again the Autumn skies, 

As on that evening, shine, 
When, from a trance of agony, 

I woke to joy divine. 

That boundless love is in my heart, 
That birth-hymn on the air ; 

I clasp in mine, with grateful faith, 
A tiny hand in prayer. 



And bless the God who guides my way, 
That, mid this world so wide, 

I day by day am walking with 
An angel by my side. 



79 



THE JUDGMENT OF THE DEAD. 



Diodorus has recorded an impressive Egyptian ceremonial, 
the judgment of the dead by the living. When the corpse, 
duly embalmed, had been placed by the margin of the Acheru- 
eian Lake, and before consigning it to the bark that was to 
bear it across the waters to its final resting-place, it was per- 
mitted to the appointed judges to hear all accusations against 
the past life of the deceased, and if proved, to deprive the 
corpse of the rites of sepulture. From this singular law not 
even kings were exempt. 



With sable plume and nodding crest, 
They bore him to his dreamless rest, 

A cold and abject thing; 
Before the whisper of whose name 
Strong hearts had quailed in fear and shame, 

While nations knelt to fling 



80 THE JUDGMENT OF THE DEAD. 

The victor's laurel at Ms feet ; 
Now gorgeous pall and winding-sheet, 
Were all that royalty could bring 
To mark the despot and the king : 
In solemn state they swept the glowing strand, 
To meet the conclave of the judgment band. 



And soon, with bright, exultant eye, 
Where fierce revenge flashed wild and high, 

Accusers gathered fast ; 
From prison-keep and living grave 
Came forth the mutilated slave, 
With faltering step aghast ; 
And sightless men with silver hair, 
The record of their dungeon air, 
Who for long years had sought to die, 
And wrestled with their agony 
Till thought grew wild and intellect grew dim, 
The clanking fetters' mark on every limb. 



THE JUDGMENT OF THE DEAD. 61 

With pallid cheek and eager prayer 
And maniac laugh of dark despair 
The widowed mother stood ; 
And, with white lips, an orphan throng 
Rehearsed a fearful tale of wrong 

And misery and blood. 
And strong in virtue others came, 
Unnumbered victims to proclaim 
Of vengeance, perfidy, and dread, 
Who slumbered with the silent dead. 

The world might start, the sable plumes might wave . 

But for that haughty king there was no grave. 



O ! ye who press life's crowded mart, 
With hurrying step and bounding heart, 

A solemn lesson glean ; 
Beware, lest, when ye cross that stream 
Whose breaking surges farthest gleam, 

No mortal eye hath seen, 



82 THE JUDGMENT OF THE BEAD. 

Discordant voices wake the shore 
The struggling spirit would explore, 
And to the trembling soul deny 
Its latest resting-place on high ; 
Our acts are Judges, that must meet us there 
With seraph smiles of light, or fiendish glare. 



83 



THE HIGHLAND GIRL'S LAMENT. 



The ancient Highlanders believed the spirits of their de- 
parted friends continually present, and that their imagined 
appearances and voices communicated warnings of approach- 
ing death. 



Oh ! set the bridal feast aside, 
And bear the harp away ; 

The coronach must sound instead, 
From solemn kirk-yard gray. 



I heard last eve, at set of sun, 
The death-bell on the gale. 

It was no earthly melody : — 
The eglantine grew pale ; 



THE HIGHLAND GIRL's LAMENT. 

And leaf and blossom seemed to thrill 
With an unuttered prayer, 

As, fraught with desolateness wild, 
The strange notes stirred the air. 

And on the rugged mountain height, 
Where snow and sunbeam meet, 

That never yet in storm or shine 
Was trod by human feet, 



A weird and spectral presence came 
Between me and the light ; 

The waving of a shadowy hand 
That faded into night. 

I felt it was the first who left 
Our little household band, — 

The child, with waving locks of gold, 
Now in the silent land. 



THE HIGHLAND GIRL'S LAMENT. 85 

And when the mist at morn arose 

From Katrine's silvery wave, 
A form of aspect ominous, 

With pensive look and grave, 

Moved from the waters towards the glen 

Where stands the holly-tree ; 
'T was the brother who is sleeping low 

Beneath the stormy sea. 

And while to-night the curfew bell 

Eang out with solemn chime, 
As soundeth o'er the buried year, 

The organ peal of time, 

And, near the fragrant jessamine, 

I mused in garden glade, 
A phantom form appeared to me 

Beneath the hawthorn shade. 



86 THE HIGHLAND GIRL'S LAMENT. 

The dews had wept their silent tears, 
The moon-was up on high, 

And every star was sphered with calm, 
Like an archangel's eye ; 

And melancholy music swept 
With cadence low and sweet, 

Such as ascends when spirit-wings 
Around a death-bed meet. 

was it not a mother's heart 
That gave that warning sign ; 

The loving heart, that used to thrill 
To every grief of mine ? 

1 oft have deemed, in sunny hours, 

When life with love was fraught, 
The nearness of the dead to us 
A fantasy of thought. 



THE HIGHLAND GIRl's LAMENT. 87 

But, stauding on the barrier 

I used to view with pain, 
I feel the chains of severed love 

Are linking close again. 

Another hand must smooth and bless 

My father's silver hair; 
Another voice must read to him 

At morn and evening prayer. 

The flowers that I have trained will bloom, 

But at another's side ; 
And he I love will seek perchance, 

A gentler, fairer bride. 



And soon another shade will haunt 
The echo and the gloom, 

With pining heart of restless love, 
And omens of the tomb. 



THE HIGHLAND GIRL S LAMENT. 

Then set the festal board aside, 
And bear the harp away ; 

The coronach must sound instead 
From solemn kirk-yard gray. 



89 



TO MY SISTER. 

ON HER BIRTHDAY. 

'T is said that each succeeding year 

Another circlet weaves 
Within each living, waving tree ; 

Yet not in buds or leaves, — 
But far within the silent core, 

The tiny shuttles ply, 
At Nature's ever-working loom, 

Unseen by human eye. 



90 TO MY SISTER. 

And thus, within my "heart of hearts," 

Doth this returning day, 
Another golden zone complete, 

Another circle lay ; 
And when unto the shadowy past 

In retrospect I flee, 
I numerate the fleeting years 

By deepening love for thee. 



Since last we met this sunny day 

How bright the hours have flown ! 
Youth, Love, and Hope, with fadeless light, 

Around our way have shone ; 
And if a shadow from the past 

Has floated o'er the dream, 
'T was softened, like a violet cloud 

Reflected in a stream. 



TO MT SISTER. 91 

Yet if an hour of bitter grief, 

Should e'er thy spirit claim, 
May it the trying ordeal pass, 

As gold the fiery flame ; 
And may the years that bind our hearts 

In love that cannot die, 
Still draw us hourly nearer God, 

And nearer to the sky. 



92 



THE POET'S LESSON. 



" He who would write heroic poems, must make his whole 
life a heroic poem." — Milton. 



There came a voice from the realm of thought, 

And my spirit bowed to hear, — 
A voice with majestic sadness fraught, 

By the grace of God most clear. 

A mighty tone from the solemn Past, 

Outliving the Poet-lyre, 
Borne down on the rush of Time's fitful blast, 

Like the cloven tonerues of fire. 



THE rOET S LESSON. 



Wouldst thou fashion the song, ! Poet-heart, 

For a mission high and free ? 
The drama of Life, in its every part, 

Must a living poem be. 

Wouldst thou speed the knight to the battle- 
field, 
In a proven suit of mail ? 
On the world's highway, with Faith's broad 
shield, 
The peril go forth to hail. 

For the noble soul, there is noble strife, 

And the sons of earth attain, 
Through the wild turmoil and storm of Life, 

To discipline, through pain. 

Think not that Poesy liveth alone, 

In the flow of measured rhyme ; 
The noble deed with a mightier tone 

Shall sound through latest time. 



94 the poet's lesson. 



Then poems two, at each upward flight, 

In glorious measure fill ; 
Be the Poem in words, one of beauty and might, 

But the Life one, loftier still. 



95 



MADELINE. 

A LEGEND OF THE MOHAWK. 

Where the waters of the Mohawk 

Through a quiet valley glide, 
From the brown church to her dwelling 

She that morning passed a bride. 
In the mild light of October 

Beautiful the forest stood, 
As the temple on Mount Zion 

When God filled its solitude. 



90 MADELINE. 

Very quietly the red leaves, 

On the languid zephyr's breath, 
Fluttered to the mossy hillocks 

Where their sisters slept in death : 
And the white mist of the Autumn 

Hung o'er mountain-top and dale, 
Soft and filmy, as the foldings 

Of the passing bridal veil. 



From the field of Saratoga 

At the last night's eventide, 
Eode the groom, — a gallant soldier 

Flushed with victory and pride, 
Seeking, as a priceless guerdon 

From the dark-eyed Madeline, 
Leave to lead her to the altar 

When the morrow's sun should shine. 



MADELIiNE. 97 

All the children of the village, 

Decked with garland's white and red, 
All the young men and the maidens, 

Had been forth to see her wed ; 
And the aged people, seated 

In the doorways 'neath the vine, 
Thought of their own youth and blessed her, 

As she left the house divine. 



Pale she was, but very lovely, 

With a brow so calm and fair, 
When she passed, the benediction 

Seemed still falling on the air. 
Strangers whispered they had never 

Seen who could with her compare, 
And the maidens looked with envy 

On her wealth of raven hair. 



98 MADELINE, 

111 the glen beside the river 

In the shadow of the wood, 
With wide-open doors for welcome 

Gamble-roofed the cottage stood ; 
Where the festal board was waiting, 

For the bridal guests prepared, 
Laden with a feast, the humblest 

In the little village shared. 



Every hour was winged with gladness 

While the sun went down the west, 
Till the chiming of the church-bell 

Told to all the hour for rest : 
Then the merry guests departed, . 

Some a camp's rude couch to bide, 
Some to bright homes, — each invoking 

Blessings on the gentle bride. 



MADELINE. 99 

Tranquilly the morning sunbeam 

Over field and hamlet stole, 
Wove a glory round each red leaf, 

Then effaced the Frost-king's scroll : 
Eyes responded to its greeting 

As a lake's still waters shine, 
Young hearts hounded, — and a gay group 

Sought the home of Madeline. 



Bird-like voices 'neath the casement 

Chanted in the hazy air, 
A sweet orison for wakening, — 

Half thanksgiving and half prayer. 
But no white hand drew the curtain 

From the vine-clad panes before, 
No light form, with buoyant footstep, 

Hastened to fling wide the door. 



100 MADELINE. 

Moments numbered hours in passing 

'Mid that silence, till a fear 
Of some unseen ill crept slowly 

Through the trembling minstrels near, 
Then with many a dark foreboding, 

They, the threshold hastened o'er, 
Paused not where a stain of crimson 

Curdled on the oaken floor; 



But sought out the bridal chamber. 

Grod in Heaven ! could it be 
Madeline who knelt before them 

In that trance of agony ? 
Cold, inanimate beside her, 

By the ruthless Cow-boys slain 
In the night-time whilst defenceless, 

He she loved so well was lain ; 



MADELINE. 101 

O'er her bridal dress were scattered, 

Stains of fearful, fearful dye, 
And the soul's light beamed no longer 

From her tearless, vacant eye. 
Bound her slight form hung the tresses 

Braided oft with pride and care, 
Silvered by that night of madness 

With its anguish and despair. 



She lived on to see the roses 

Of another summer wane, 
But the light of reason never 

Shone in her sweet eyes again. 
Once where blue and sparkling waters 

Through a quiet valley run, 
Fertilizing field and garden, 

Wandered I at set of sun ; 



102 MADELINE. 

Twilight as a silver shadow 

O'er the softened landscape lay, 
When amid a straggling village 

Paused I in my rambling way. 
Plain and brown the church before me 

In the little graveyard stood, 
And the laborer's axe resounded 

Faintly, from the neighboring wood. 



Through the low, half-open wicket 

Deeply worn, a pathway led : 
Silently I paced its windings 

Till I stood among the dead. 
Passing by the grave memorials 

Of departed worth and fame, 
Long I paused before a record 

That no pomp of words could claim 



MADELINE. 1 03 

Simple was the slab and lowly, 

Shaded by a fragrant vine, 
And the single name recorded, 

Plainly writ, was " Madeline." 
But beneath it through the clusters 

Of the jessamine I read, 
t'Spes" engraved in bolder letters,— 

This was all the marble said, 



!04 



THE DEFORMED ARTIST, 

The twilight o'er Italia' s sky- 
Had spread a shadowy veil, 

And one by one the solemn stars 
Looked forth, serene and pale ; 

As quietly the waning light 
Through a high casement stole, 

And fell on one with silver hair, 
Who shrived a passing soul. 



THE DEF0111VIED ARTIST. 105 

No costly pomp or luxury- 
Relieved that chamber's gloom, 

But glowing forms, by limner's art 
Created, thronged the room : 

And as the low winds carried far 
The chime for evening prayer, 

The dying painter's earnest tones 
Fell on the languid air. 



" The spectral form of Death is nigh, 

The thread of life is spun : 
Ave Maria ! I have looked 

Upon my latest sun. 
And yet 't is not with pale disease 

This frame is worn away ; 
Nor yet — nor yet with length of years 

A child but yesterday," 



106 THE DEFORMED ARTIST. 

" I found within my father's hall 

No fervent love to claim, 
The curse that marked me at my birth 

Devoted me to shame. 
I saw that on my brother's brow 

Angelic beauty lay ; 
The mirror gave me back a form 

That thrilled me with dismay." 



" And soon I learned to shrink from all, 

The lowly and the high ; 
To see but scorn on every lip, 

Contempt in every eye. 
And for a time e'en Nature's smile 

A bitter mockery wore, 
For beauty stamped each living thing 

The wide creation o'er," 



THE DEFORMED ARTIST. 107 



"And I alone was cursed and loathed: 

'T was in a garden bower 
I mused one eve* and scalding tears 

Fell fast on many a flower ; 
And when I rose, I marked, with awe 

And agonizing grief, 
A frail mimosa at my feet 

Fold close each fragile leaf." 



" Alas ! how dark my lot, if thus 

A plant could shrink from me ! 
But when I looked again, I saw 

That from the honey-bee, 
The falling leaf, the bird's gay wing. 

It shrank with pain or fear : 
A kindred presence I had found, — 

Life waxed sublimely clear." 



108 THE DEFORMED ARTIST. 

" I climbed the lofty mountain height, 

And communed with the skies, 
And felt within my grateful heart 

New aspirations rise. 
Then, thirsting for a higher lore, 

I left my childhood's home, 
And stayed not till I gazed upon 

The hills of fallen Rome." 



" I stood amid the glorious forms 

Immortal and divine, 
The painter's wand had summoned from 

The dim Ideal's shrine ; 
And felt within my fevered soul 

Ambition's wasting fire, 
And seized the pencil, with a vague 

And passionate desire" 



THE DEFORMED ARTIST. 109 

To shadow forth, with lineaments 

Of earth, the phantom throng 
That swept before my sight in thought, 

And lived in storied song. 
Vain, vain the dream ; — as well might I 

Aspire to light a star, 
Or pile the gorgeous sunset-clouds 

That glitter from afar. 



" The threads of life have worn away ; 

Discordantly they thrill ; 
And soon the sounding chords will be 

For ever mute and still. 
And in the spirit-land that lies 

Beyond, so calm and gray, 
I shall aspire with truer aim : — 

Ave Maria ! pray !" 



no 



THE CHILD'S APPEAL. 



AN INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION AND 
REIGN OF ROBESPIERRE. 



Day dawned above a city's mart, 
Yet not 'mid peace and prayer : 

The shouts of frenzied multitudes 
Were on the thrilling air. 

A guiltless man to death was led, 
Through crowded streets and wide, 

And a fairy child, with waving curls, 
Was clinging to his side. 



THE CHILD'S APPEAL. Ill 

The father's brow with pride was calm, 

But, trusting and serene, 
The child's was like the Holy One's 

In Kaphael's paintings seen. 

She shrank not from the heartless throng, 

Nor from the scaffold high ; 
But now and then, with beaming smile, 

Addressed her parent's eye. 



Athwart the golden flood of morn 
Was poised the wing of Death, 

As 'neath the fearful guillotine 
The doomed one drew his breath. 



Then all of fiercest agony 
The human heart can bear, 

Was suffered in the brief caress, 
The wild, half-uttered prayer. 



112 THE CHILD'S APPEAL. 

Then she, the child, beseechingly- 
Upraised her eyes of blue, 

And whispered, while her cheek grew pale, 
" I am to go with you !" 

The murmur of impatient fiends 

Kang in her infant ear, 
And purpose strong woke in her heart, 

And spoke in accent clear : — 

" They tore my mother from our side, 

In the dark prison's cell ; 
Her eyes were filled with tears, — she had 

No time to say farewell. 

" And you were all that loved me then, 

And you are pale with care, 
And every night a silver thread 

Has mingled with your hair. 



THE CHILD'S APPEAL. 113 

•' My mother used to tell me of 

A better land afar, 
I 've seen it through, the prison bars 

"Where burns the evening star. 



"O let us find a new home there, 
I will be brave and true ; 

You cannot leave me here alone, 
O let me die with you ! " 



The gentle tones were drowned by shrill 

And long-protracted cries ; 
The father on his darling gazed, 

The child looked on the skies. 



Anon, far up the cloudless blue, 

Unseen by mortal eye, 
God's angels with two spirits passed 

To purer realms on high. 



114 THE CHILD'S APPEAL. 

The one was touched with earthly hues, 
And dim with earthly care, 

The other, as a lily's cup, 
Unutterably fair. 



II") 



THE DYING YEAR. 

With dirge-like music, low, 
Sounds forth again the solemn harp of Time ; 
Mass for the buried hours, a funeral chime 

O'er human joy and woe. 
The sere leaves wail around thy passing bier, 
Speed to thy dreamless rest, departing year ! 



116 THE DYING YEAR. 

Yet, ere thy sable pall 
Cross the wide threshold of the mighty Past, 
Give back the treasures on thy bosom cast ; 

Earth would her gems recall : 
Give back the lily's bloom and violet's breath, 
The summer leaves that bowed before the 
reaper Death. 



Give back the dreams of fame, 
The aspirations strong for glory won ; 
Hopes that went out perchance when set thy 
sun, 
Nor left nor trace nor name : 
Give back the wasted hours, half-uttered 

prayer, 
The high resolves forgot that stained thine 
annals fair. 



THE DYING YEAR. 117 

Give back the flow of thought, 
That woke within the poet's yearning breast, 
Soothing its wild and passionate unrest ; 

Love's rainbow-visions, wrought 
Of youth's deep, fearless trust, that light the 

scroll 
With an intenser glow, — records of heart and 
soul ! 



Give back — for thou hast more — 
Give back the kindly words we loved so well, 
Voices, whose music on the spirit fell, 

But tenderness to pour; 
The steps that never now around us tread, 
Faces that haunt our sleep : give back, give 
back the dead. 

6* 



118 THE DYING YEAR. 

Give back! — who shall explore 
Creation's boundless realms to mark thy prey? 
Who mount where man has never thought to 
sway, 
Or science dared to soar ? 
Oh ! who shall tell what suns have set for aye, 
What worlds gone out, what systems passed 
away? 



Not till the stars shall fall, 
And earth and sky before God's mandate flee, 
Shall human vision look, or spirit see, 

Beneath thy mystic pall : 
But hark! with accent clear, and flute-like 

swell, 
Floats up the New Year's voice, — Departed 
one, farewell ! 



119 



SONG OF THE NEW YEAR. 

As the bright flowers start from their wintry 

tomb, 
I 've sprung from the depths of futurity's 

gloom ; 
With the glory of Hope on my unshadowed 

brow, 
But a fear at mj heart, earth welcomes me 

now. 
I come and bear with me a measureless flow, 
Of infinite joy and of infinite woe: 
The banquet's light jest and the penitent 

prayer, 
The sweet laugh of gladness, the wail of 

despair, 
The warm words of welcome, and broken 

farewell, 



120 SONG OF THE NEW YEAR. 

The strains of rich music, the funeral knell, 
The fair bridal wreath, and the robe for the 

dead, 
O how will they meet in the path I shall 

tread ! 
how will they mingle where'er I pass by, 
As sunshine and storm in the rainbow on high! 



Yet start not, nor shrink from the race I must 

run; 
I 've peace and repose for the heart-stricken 

one, 
And strength for the weary who fail in the 

strife, 
And falter before the great warfare of Life. 
I've love for the friendless ; a morrow of light 
For him who is wrapped in adversity's night ; 
With trust for the doubting, a field for the 

soul. 



SONG OF THE NEW YEAR. 121 

That has dared from its loftier purpose to 

stroll, 
To haste to the conflict, and blot out the 

shame 
With the deeds of repentance, and resolute 

aim 
To seek, 'mid the struggle with tempters and 

sin, 
The high meed of virtue triumphant to win. 



Unsullied andpure is the future's broad scroll, 
And as leaf after leaf from its folds shall unroll, 
The warp and the woof they are woven by 

me, 
But the shadows and coloring rest, mortal, 

with thee. 
'T is thine to cast over those leaves as they 

bloom, 



122 SONG OF THE NEW YEAR. 

The sunlight of morning or hues of the tomb ; 
Though moments of sorrow to all must be 

given, 
There 's a vista of light that leads up to 

heaven ; 
Nor utterly starless the path thou hast trod, 
Till thy heart prove a traitor to thee or to 

God. 



123 



I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY. 



I looked upon the fair young flowers 

That in our gardens bloom, 
Gazed on their winning loveliness, 

And then upon the tomb ; 
I looked upon the smiling earth, 

The blue and cloudless sky, 
And murmured in my spirit's depths, 

"01 can never die ! " 



124 I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY. 

I heard my sister's joyous laugh, 

As she danced lightly by, 
Her heart was glad with love and hope, 

Its pulse with youth beat high ; 
I sought my mother's quiet smile, 

She fondly drew me nigh, 
And still I said within my heart, 

"01 can never die ! " 



Stern winter came, — the fairy flowers 

Were swept by storms away, 
And swiftly passed the verdant bloom 

Of summer's lovely day ; 
My mother's smile grew more serene, 

And brighter was her eye, 
And now I know her only as 

An angel in the sky. 



I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY. 125 

And sorrow's wing had cast a shade 

Upon my sister's smile, 
Had checked the voice of gladsome mirth,' 

And bounding step the while ; 
And when the bright spring came again, 

And clouds forsook the sky, 
Then I knelt down and thanked my Grod 

There was a time to die. 



120 



THE FALL OF JERUSALEM. 

The sunset on Judah's high places grew pale, 
And purple tints shadowed the gorge and the 

vale, 
While Venus in beauty, with dilating eye, 
Out-riding the star-host, looked down from 

the sky 
On the city that struggled with foemen below,- 
Jerusalem, peerless in grandeur and woe ! 



THE FALL OF JERUSALEM. 127 

O'er the fast crumbling walls thronged the 

cohorts of Rome, 
Their batteries thundered on palace and dome, 
And the children of Israel in voiceless despair 
At the foot of the Temple had breathed a 

last prayer ; 
For their armies were spent in the unequal 

strife, 
And Famine was maddening the pulses of 

life, 
The pestilence lurked in the zephyr's soft 

breath, 
And the gall-drops were poured from the 

drawn sword of Death. 



The Night with starred garments moved noise- 
less on high, 

When they felt a hot blast on the cool air 
draw nigh ; — 

Did pinions infernal rejoicing sweep by ? 



128 THE FALL OF JERUSALEM. 

They beheld a wild flash o'er the firmament 
shine ; — 

Came there aid from above, — a legation divine ? 

There is fire on the mount, there is smoke 
in the air ; 

The red flames shoot upward with bright, 
spectral glare ; 

Men of Jacob, draw nigh, but like Moses un- 
shod, 

'T is the shrine of Jehovah, the temple of Grod. 

The cherubim drooped and the pomegranates 
lay 

In the dust with the lamps that had glim- 
mered all day ; 

The censers and altar the ashes must claim, 

Though their unalloyed gold be the gold of 
Parvaim. 

Fierce raged the consumer insatiate and strong, 
And cursed was its light by that soul-stricken 
throng, 



THE FALL OF JERUSALEM. 129 

Who beheld their destruction and anguish 
and shame, 

Engraved by the lurid and forked tongues of 
flame, 

On pillar and pommel and chapiter high, 

Distinct as the law they had dared to defy, 

Was traced through the cloud where the Deity 
shone 

By the finger of God on the tablets of stone ; 

They beheld e'en the Holy of Holies con- 
sume; 

Then with, frenzied bemoaning lamented their 
doom. 

The cedars of Lebanon thrilled with the wail 
That swept like a torrent Jehoshaphat's vale ; 
Mount Tabor and Zion re-echoed afar 
The voice of lamenting for Judah's lost star ; 
The Kedron replied from its sanctified glade ; 
The olive-leaves shook in Gethsemane's shade ; 



130 THE FALL OF JERUSALEM. 

And a strange world came forth from the 

regions of space 
And hung like a sword o'er the grave of that 

race ; 
While the watchman, who terror-struck gazed 

on the sight, 
Not a signal gave forth from his fire-girded 

height, 
But breathlessly muttered, with cold lips and 

pale, 
" 'T is the tenth day of Lous, — Jerusalem, 

wail ! " 

Day dawned o'er Judea, but never again 
Might the sunbeam in splendor flash back 

from her fane. 
No prophet stood forth, and, with prescience 

sublime, 
Told of light in the Future unkindled by 

Time : 



THE FALL OF JERUSALEM. 131 

No poet-king sounded his lyre o'er her tomb ; 
No ruler went up 'mid the cloud's awful gloom 
And fervently plead with Jehovah's fierce ire ; 
No God on Mount Sinai descended in fire ; 
The eyes of the daughters of Rachel were 

dim; 
The priesthood were anguished by visions of 

Him 
Who, patient and God-like, climbed Calvary's 

side ; 
The ancient men sorrowed by Siloah's tide, 
And Israel to shame and oppression were 

sold, 
To bondage and exile for ages untold ; 
And the hearts of the captives grew hollow 

and dry 
As the fruit that o'er Sodom hangs fair to the 

eye. 



132 



THE FIRST LOOK. 

I heard the strokes of the midnight bell 

As they thrilled the quiet air, 
And saw the soft, white curtains wave 

In the lamp's uncertain glare ; 
And felt the breath of the July night, 
Laden with fragrance and warmth and blight. 



THE FIRST LOOK. ' 133 

I knew that scarcely an hour before, 

With plaintive and feeble wail, 
A spirit had entered the gates of time, 

A being helpless and frail ; 
That cradled beside me the stranger lay, 
Though I had not dared o'er her face to pray. 

But roused by the voice of the midnight chime, 

O'er the little one I bent, 
And soft, sweet eyes were upraised to mine, 

As blue as the firmament, — 
Eyes that had never beheld the day, 
Or the chastened light of the moonbeam's ray. 

O wonderful meeting, on the verge 

Of Life and the dark Beyond J 
O wonderful glance from soul to soul 

United by tenderest bond ! 
The one corroded with earth and care, 
The other as falling snow-flakes fair ; — 
7 



134 THE FIRST LOOK. 

The one oppressed with contrition's tear, 

Familiar with grief and sin, 
The other with naught but the angel's face 

Who ushered the human in ; 
The one a wrestler with Fate's decrees, 
The other environed with saintly ease ; — 

The one acquainted with Death and change, 
And with anguish faint and pale, 

The other as fresh as the earliest rose 
That opened in Eden's vale. 

Dear Lord ! that ever the blight should fall, 

That sin should sully and Death appall ! 



135 



THE DAUGHTER OF JEPHTHAH AMONG THE 
MOUNTAINS. 



Night bent o'er the mountains 

With aspect serene ; 
The deep waters slept 

'Neath the moon's pallid sheen, 
And the stars in their courses 

Moved noiseless on high, 
As a soul, when it cleaveth 

In thought the blue sky. 



136 THE DAUGHTER OF JEPHTHAH 

The low winds were spent 

With the fever of day, 
And stirred scarce a leaf 

Of the green wood's array ; 
And the white, fleecy clouds 

Hovered light on the air, 
Like an angel's wing, bent 

For a penitent prayer. 



Sleep hushed in the city 

The tumult and strife, 
And calmed in the spirit 

The unrest of life : 
But one, where Mount Lebanon 

Lifted its snow, 
Slumbered not till the morn 

Wakened earth with its glow. 



AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 137 

Beneath the dark cedars, 

Majestic, sublime, 
That for ages had mocked 

Both at tempest and Time, 
In whose tops the wild eagle 

His eyrie had made, 
She knelt with pale cheek 

In the damp, mossy glade. 



The small hands were folded 

In worship divine, 
And the silent leaves thrilled. 

In that lone forest shrine, 
With the voice of the pleader, 

That, earnest and low, 
Was sad as the sea-shell's 

And plaintive with woe. 



138 THE DAUGHTER OF JEPHTHAH 

She prayed not for life, 

Though Youth's early bloom 
Glowed on her fair cheek, 

And recoiled from the tomb ; 
But a heart pure and strong, 

Sublimed by its pain, — 
A spirit attuned 

To the seraph's bright strain. 



She saw not the dark boughs 

That, spectral and hoar, 
With lattice-work rude 

Arched her wide temple o'er 
She marked not their shadows 

Gigantic and dim; 
Her soul was communing 

In triumph with Him ; — 



AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

With the Ancient of Days, 

Who from mercy-seat high 
Beheld the pale pleader 

With vigilant eye ; 
And Peace with white pinion 

Came down from His throne, 
And the gleam of her wing 

On that fair forehead shone. 



139 



O Thou that upholdest 

The feeble and frail, 
And leadest the pilgrim 

Through Life's narrow vale ! 
When the days that are measured 

My spirit below 
Shall have ceased to the past 

From the future to flow, — 



1 40 THE DAUGHTER. OF JEPHTHAH AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

May the Summoner find me 

As placid and strong, 
As meet for endurance 

Of agony long, 
With a faith as divine 

And vision as clear, 
As the watchers who wept 

On the hills of Judaea ! 



141 



MONA LISA. 

Leonardo da Vinci is said to have been four years em- 
ployed upon the portrait of Mona Lisa, a fair Florentine, 
without being able to come up to the idea of her beauty. 

Artist ! lay the brusfraside ; 

Twilight gathers chill and gray ; 
Turn the picture to the wall, — 

Thou hast wrought in vain to-day. 

Thrice twelve months have hastened by 
Since thy canvas first grew bright 

With that brow's bewitching beauty, 
And that dark eye's melting light. 



142 MONA LISA. 



But the early morning shineth 
On thy tireless labors yet, 

And the portrait stands before thee 
Till the evening sun has set. 



Faultless is the robe that falleth 
Round that form of matchless grace ; 

Faultless is the softened outline 
Of the fair and oval face. 

Thou hast caught the wondrous beauty 
Of the round cheek's roseate hue, 

And the full, red lips are smiling 
As this morn they smiled on you. 

To that Lady thou hast given 

Immortality below; 
Wherefore then, with moody glances, 

Dost thou from thy labor go ? 



MONA LISA. 143 

From the living face of beauty- 
Beams the soul's expressive ray, 

And with all thy god-like genius 
This thou never canst portray. 

Of the countless throng around me 
Each hath labors like to thine, 

Each, methinks, some Mona Lisa 
In his spirit's inmost shrine. 

Visions haunt us from our childhood 

Of a love so pure, so true, 
Time and tears, and care and anguish, 

Leave it steadfast, fair and new ; — 



Visions that elude for ever, 
As the silent years depart, 

Some unhappy ones and weary, 
Mona Lisas of the heart. 



144 MONA LISA. 

Grleams of that divine completeness 
G-od's angelic ones attain, 

Pass amid our toils before us, 
And we emulate in vain. 



Poet fancies crowd the spirit, 

We would print upon the scroll- 
But that perfect utterance faileth— 
Mona Lisas of the soul. 



145 



SPEING LILIES. 

'Neath their green and cool cathedrals, 

In the garden lilies bloom, 
Casting to the fresh Spring Zephyrs 

Peal on peal of sweet perfume. 
Often have I, pausing near them 

When the sunset flushed the sky, 
Seen^he coral bells vibrating 

With their fragrant harmony. 



146 SPRING LILLIES. 

And, within my quiet dwelling, 

I have now a Lily fair, 
Whose young spirit's sweet Spring budding 

Watch I with unfailing care : 
Grod, in placing her beside me, 

Made my being most complete, 
And my heart keeps time for ever 

With the music of her feet. 



I remember not, while gazing 

In her earnest eyes of blue, 
That the earth has aught of sorrow 

Aught less innocent and true ; 
And the restlessness and longing 

Wakened by the cares of day, 
With the burden and the tumult, 

In her presence fall away. 



SPRING LILLIES. 147 

Shield my Lily, Holy Father ! 

Shield her from the whirlwind's might, 
But protracted sunshine temper 

With a soft and starry night ; 
'Neath the burning suns of Summer, 

Withered, scorched, the spring-flower lies, 
Human hearts contract, when strangers 

Long to clouds and tearful eyes. 



Give her purpose strong and holy, 

Faith and self-devotion high ; 
These Life's common by-ways brighten 

Every hope intensify. 
Teach her all the brave endurance 

That the sons of earth require ; 
May she, with a patient labor, 

To the great and good aspire. 



148 SPRING LILLIES. 

Should some mighty grief oppress her, 

Heavier than she can bear, 
Oh ! sustain her by Thy presence, 

Hear and answer Thou her prayer : 
And whene'er the storms of winter 

Round my precious Lily reign, 
To a fairer clime transplant her, 

There to live and bloom again. 



149 



LINES TO D. G, T., OF SHERWOOD. 

Blessings on thee, noble boy ! 

With thy sunny eyes of blue, 
Speaking in their cloudless depths 

Of a spirit pure and true. 



In thy thoughtful look and calm, 
In thy forehead broad and high, 

We have seemed to meet again 
One whose home is in the sky. 



150 LINES TO D. G. T., OF SHERWOOD. 

Thou to Earth art still a stranger, 
To Life's tumult and unrest ; 

Angel visitants alone 

Stir the fountains in thy breast. 

Thou hast yet no Past to shadow 
With a fear the Future's light, 

And the Present spreads before thee 
Boundless as the Infinite. 



But each passing hour must waken 

Energies that slumber now, 
Manhood with its fire and action 

Stamp that fair, unfurrowed brow. 

Into Life's sublime arena, 

Opening through the world's broad mart, 
Bear thy Mother's gentle spirit, 

And her kind and loving heart. 



LINES TO D. G. T., OF SHERWOOD. 151 

With exalted hope and purpose, 
To the great and good aspire ; 

Downward, in unsullied glory, 
Hand the honor of thy sire, — 

With that love for Truth and Justice, 

Future annals shall declare 
Highest proof of moral greatness ; — 

Nobly live and bravely dare. 

Cloudless pass thine infant days, 

Childhood bring thee naught but joy. 

Manhood, thought, and dignity ; 
Blessings on thee, noble boy ! 



152 



LITTLE KATE. 

Beside me, in the golden light 
That slants upon the floor, 

She twines the many-colored silks 
Her dimpled fingers o'er ; 

Uplifting now and then her eye, 

Or praise or blame in mine to spy. 



LITTLE KATE. 153 

For her sweet sake I've cast aside 
The books I've loved so well, 

And given up my being to 
Affection's mighty spell ; 

Ambition's visions vanish all, 

Before the music of her call. 

The fancy of the past, that lent 

To jewels bright and rare 
Ascendency at every birth 

In this our planet's air, 
Hath to October's children given 
The opal with its hues of Heaven. 

The golden sunlight in the sky, 

The red leaf on the plain ; 
Beneath the opal's changeful light 

Hope and Misfortune reign ; 
And mid gay leaves of wondrous dyes, 
My darling first unclosed her eyes. 



154 LITTLE KATE. 

I cannot in the future look 

The augury to prove, 
But earthly joys and earthly woes 

Must human spirits move ; 
And she, like all, must strive with care, 
Disasters meet, and suffering bear. 

But I will teach her hopefully 
To meet what Fate betides, 

To live and labor earnestly, 
In narrow path or wide ; 

And, with salt tears on paling cheek, 

A benediction still to speak. 

And if in some sweet inner sphere, 

Some home of love apart, 
An angel's duty she fulfil 

With but a woman's heart, 
Haply the red leaf, in its advent, may 
Find Hope o'er sorrow dominant for aye. 



155 



A THOUGHT OF THE STAES. 

I remember once, when a careless child, 

I played on the mossy lea ; 
The stars looked forth in the shadowy west, 

And I stole to my mother's knee, 

With a handful of stemless violets, wet 
With the drops of gathering dew, 

And asked of the wonderful points of light 
That shone in the distant blue. 



156 A THOUGHT OF THE STARS. 

She told me of numberless worlds, that rolled 
Through the measureless depths above, 

Created by infinite might and power, 
Supported by infinite love. 

She told of a faith that she called divine, 

Of a fairer and happier home ; 
Of hope unsullied by grief or fear, 

And a loftier life to come. 

She told of seraphs, on wings of light, 

That floated from star to star, 
And were sometimes sent on a mission high 

To a blighted orb afar. 

And with childish sense, I forgot the worlds, 

She had pointed out on high, 
And deemed each wonderful beam of light 

The glance of an angel's eye. 



A THOUGHT OF THE STARS. 157 

And when she knelt with her babes in prayer, — 

I know each petition now, — 
I saw the gleam of those wings of light 

Lie beautiful on her brow. 



Years passed, and in earliest youth I knelt 

By my mother's dying bed ; 
The lips were mute that had spoken love, 

And the eye's bright glance had fled. 



And when I turned from that silent room 
Where the latest word was spoken, 

The shadow of death o'er my spirit lay, 
And I thought that my heart was broken ; 

I sought the hush of the midnight air, 
And wept till the founts were dry ; 

The earth was clad in a wintry garb, 
But the star host filled the sky. 

8 



158 A THOUGHT OF THE STARS. 

And then I remembered the faith divine 

And the loftier life to come, 
And felt the shadow of Death depart 

From my childhood's sacred home. 

And often now when my heart is faint 
With earth and its wearying care, 

When my soul is sick with a feverish thirst 
And burdened with contrite prayer, 

I hasten forth to the starry gems, 
That circle the brow of night, 

And track with them the eloquent depths 
Of the boundless Infinite. 

They whisper low of a holier life 
And a faith sublime and high ; 

And again I fancy each golden beam 
The glance of a seraph's eye. 



A THOUGHT OF THE STARS. 159 

As in days of yore, when a careless child, 

I stole to my mother's knee, 
And asked of the wonderful points of light 

That shone o'er the deep, blue sea. 



160 



A MOTHER'S PRAYER. 

I knelt beside a little bed, 

The curtains drew away, 
And, 'mid the soft, white folds beheld, 

Two rosy sleepers lay ; 
The one had seen three summers smile 

And lisped her evening prayer ; 
The other, — only one year's shade 

Was on her flaxen hair. 



a mother's prayer. 161 

No sense of duties ill performed 

Weighed on each heaving breast, 
No weariness of work-day care 

Disturbed their tranquil rest ; 
The stars to them as yet were in 

The reach of baby hand, 
Temptation, trial, grief, were words 

They could not understand. 



But in the coming years I saw 

The turbulence of life 
O'erwhelm this calm of innocence 

With melancholy strife ; 
" From all the foes that lurk without, 

From feebleness within, 
What Sovereign guard from Heaven," I asked, 

"Will strong beseeching win?" 

8* 



102 a mother's prayer.. 

Then to my soul a vision came, 

Illuming, cheering all, 
Of him who stood with shining front 

On Dothan's ancient wall ; 
And, while his servant's heart grew faint 

As he beheld with fear 
The Syrian hands encompassing 

The city far and near, 



With, lofty confidence to his 

Sad questioning replied, 
"Those armies are outnumbered far 

By legions at our side :" 
Then up from starry sphere to sphere, 

Was borne the Prophet's prayer, 
" Unfold to his blind sight, O God ! 

Thy glorious hosts and fair." 



a mother's prayer. IG3 

The servant's eyes bewildered gazed 

On chariots of fire, 
On seraphs clad in mails of light, 

Resistless in their ire ; 
On ranks of angels marshalled close, 

Where roving comets run, 
On silver shields and rainbow wings, 

Outspread before the sun. 



I saw the Syrian hosts, at noon, 

Led sightless through the land, 
And longed to grasp the Prophet's robe 

Within my feeble hand ; 
While my whole soul went out in deep 

And passionate appeal, 
That faith like his might set within 

My babes' pure hearts its seal. 



164 



NOTES. 

Page 66. 

'T is said the radiant stars of night, 
When viewed through different air, 

Appear not all in golden robes, 
But various colors wear. 

In Syria, where the atmosphere is less humid than ours, 
the whole heavens are said to sparkle at night, as with various- 
colored gems. 

Page 94. 

Madeline. — A Legend of the Mohawk. — The events narrated 
in this poem occurred during the struggle of the American 
Colonies for Independence, immediately after the battle of 
Saratoga, in a small village on the banks of the Mohawk. 

Page 99. 

By the ruthless Cow-boys slain. 

"Cow-boys" was the term applied to the corps of free- 
booters attached to the British army. 



165 



Page 127. 

And the gall-drops were poured from the 
drawn-sword of Death. 

According to a Rabbinical tradition, gall-drops fall from 
the suspended sword of the Angel of Death on the lips of the 
dying. 

Page 128. 

The cherubim drooped and the pomegranates 
lay 

In the dust with the lamps that had glim- 
mered all day ; 

The censers, and altars, the ashes must claim, 

Though their unalloyed gold be the gold of 
Parvaim. 

2 Chronicles, 3:10: " And in the most holy house he made 
two Cherubims of image-work, and overlaid them with gold." 

1 Kings, 7 : 20 : " And the chapiters upon the two pillars 
had pomegranates also above : and the pomegranates were 
two hundred in rows round about upon the other chapiter." 

2 Chronicles, 4 : 20 : "Moreover the candlesticks with their 
lamps and the censers were of gold. 



J 66 NOTES. 

2 Chronicles, 3:6: " And he garnished the house with 
precious stones for beauty, and the gold was gold of Par- 
vaim." 

Page 129. 

On pillar, and pommel, and chapiter high. 

2 Chronicles, 4 : 11, 12 : " And Hiram finished the work that 
he was to make for King Solomon for the house of God." 

"To wit : the two pillars and the pommels, and the chapiters 
which were on the top of the two pillars." 

Page 129. 

The Cedars of Lebanon thrilled with the wail, 
That swept, like a torrent, Jehoshaphat's vale. 

It is related by Josephus, that when the Jews perceived the 
conflagration of the Holy House, they broke out into such 
groans and outcries that all the mountains round about the 
city returned the echo. 

Page 130. 

And a strange world came forth from the 

regions of space 
And hung like a sword o'er the grave of that 

race. 



NOTES. 167 

According to Josephus " a star resembling a sword stood 
over the city." 

Page 130. 

'T is the tenth day of Lous — Jerusalem wail ! 

The same month and day in which the Temple was bnrned 
by the Babylonians, and which, according to an oracle of the 
Jews, was to be a fatal one in their annals. 

Page 136. 

" And she said unto her father, Let me alone two months, 
that I may go up and down upon the mountains." — Judges 
11 : 37. 

Page 163. 

2 Kings 6 : 15, 19. 



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